How's this for a bit of a modern one by one Richard Brodie?:
In silent Morn, the Lawn still wet with Dew, The friendly Owner of the Pub said: "Drink! Ah, come! A lusty Bacchic Vial quaff, Ere ye despair, and in the Grave ye sink."
Oh Rooster! when it crowed we Men who drink Turned to the Pub: "Oh welcome! No Delay! Old Throats crave Oceans of Nepenthe sweet - A Vodka on the House? thy Treat today!"